Lady of the Moor
by willow faerie
Summary: Head Auror, Harry Potter, goes to investigate a young girl’s disappearance at Hogwarts and gets help from an unexpected source.


I would like to thank my lovely beta, Joan_Glover.

_She walks these hills _

_In a long black veil _

_She visits my grave _

_When the night winds wail _

_Nobody knows, nobody sees, _

_Nobody knows but me _

The Long Dark Veil -- Wilkin/Dill

* * *

**The Lady of the Moor**

"It's always good to see you, Harry," Headmaster Flitwick said, setting down his teacup, offering his hand. Dressed in fine purple robes, his hair long and white, the former charms professor had to be almost one hundred–years-old, but he didn't look a day over eighty.

Harry politely bent over and shook his hand. "Yes, it's too bad it's under such grim circumstances."

Harry knew Flitwick had been surprised to see him. Most of the time, the head of the Auror Department didn't come out for routine investigations, such as the Falkner girl's disappearance. Harry didn't want to go home though. Ever since Ginny's death nearly a year ago, the house had seemed so empty. All his children had moved out and lived with their own families. Harry was alone. The silence of it drove him crazy, so he buried himself in work, despite the fact people told him he should retire.

"I'm sure the Falkner girl just wandered off somewhere," Flitwick said, his brown eyes sad. "Girls sometimes do that. She could be back in a fortnight."

Harry nodded, but he didn't agree. After talking with all the girl's teachers and friends, he was suspicious. She hadn't seemed like the kind of girl to run off. Her grades were good; she had lots of friends. Muggle borns weren't persecuted like they used to be. She didn't even have a boyfriend, so she really had no reason to leave. He had been an Auror far too long to think that everything was all right.

Glancing at a dark red candle on the bookshelf, Harry noticed that the wax was twisting around the base like a spiral staircase. He picked up the heavy, pewter candle holder and studied it. "They say that when candle wax twirls around like a winding sheet, it means someone has died," he said softly, looking down at Flitwick.

Flitwick paled. "I'm sure it's just an old superstition."

Harry set the candle down gloomily and pushed his wireframe glasses back up on his nose. He believed in superstitions. He had to. Everything he had ever heard in the magical world had an ounce of truth to it. "Let me know if she turns up, will you?"

"Of course." Flitwick saw him to the door.

Passing a display case, Harry saw an old moving photograph of his Quidditch team. His own green eyes stared back at him. It had been years since he last played. He hardly resembled the boy he once was, his dark hair now long and streaked with gray, pulled back into a pleat. Time had run wild on him. It still caught him by surprise.

Outside, the early morning air was cold and damp. A misty fog had settled across the green grasslands like a blanket, the sky overcast.

Lifting up the collar on his long navy coat, Harry straightened his cuffs and brushed away a piece of lint. He never had been immaculate. Then he pulled out his gray woolen gloves and paused, a lump in his throat. Ginny had knitted these gloves for him last Christmas. It still brought tears to his eyes to think of it. He had become ridiculously sentimental in his old age. He'd tear up over almost anything anymore now. It was actually quite embarrassing. Some great wizard he was.

Heading out toward the trees, he walked along the muddy path. Birds fluttered overhead, and a rabbit darted through the grass.

Wandering the grounds, Harry carried a walking cane that he sometimes used as a weapon. He had always loved Hogwarts, despite some of the bad memories that he associated with the place. Remnants of old magic still sprinkled through the air and across his fingertips. It reminded him why he loved being a wizard.

Checking the shrieking shack, he found it eerily empty, the floorboards creaking beneath his feet. Dust was caked along the doorframe. Nobody had been there in awhile. He never could walk inside that old building without thinking of Sirius and Professor Snape. It made him melancholy so he left quickly.

Next, he headed down to Hogsmead, asking a few shop clerks if they had seen the Falkner girl and flashed her picture. The missing girl was a pretty thing, impossibly young, with red hair and freckles. A potion mistress in Madam Puddifoot's Tea Shop said she recognized her but hadn't seen her in days. So it was dead end.

Harry was rather relieved they didn't make a big fuss about him anymore like they used to, just smiling when they heard his name. The boy who lived had become simply a formidable Auror, which was fitting.

As Harry headed back up to the school, a light drizzling rain began to fall. He transfigured his cane to an umbrella, trying to keep from being soaked. He rather liked his solitary walk. It bothered him that he still was no closer to finding the missing girl. He wanted to wrap things up. And unsolved mystery would keep him awake all night.

Across the field, he spotted a eerie woman in the misty haze. She startled him at first. He had seen ghosts before, but it was always so jarring. This ghost was translucent, like a white spray floating across the weeds and grass. Her image sent a shiver up his spine.

Drifting over the moor, the ghost appeared to be a young woman, dressed in a long pale gown, her skin like chalk. Her frame was tall and slender, and she had medium long hair that was almost sliver. She seemed to beckon to him, her arm half raised.

Harry walked closer to her to get a better look. Rain dripped from his umbrella and mud caked the hem of his trousers.

When they were children, James and Albus had told him about the _Lady of the Moor_, walking the ramparts of the school at night. Funny though, Harry couldn't remember seeing her himself when he'd gone to Hogwarts.

She looked willowy, her eyes dark hallows. She pointed to a cliff edge, beyond a cluster of elm trees.

Harry followed her direction, stepping through the underbrush to look over the edge. He could hear the faint sounds of a creek below. The strong scent of moss filled his nostrils. He looked down. It was a steep incline, slick with mud. He pushed a wet tree branch out of his way.

At the bottom was the Falkner girl, still dressed in her school uniform.

Harry sucked in his breath. _Bloody hell! _Quickly he Apparated to the bottom. Disposing of the umbrella with a wave of his hand, letting the rain drench him.

Books and papers were scattered everywhere. The girl was twisted in an awkward position, her blue eyes staring into space. There was blood on her lips, and her long red hair was soaked in a pool of dark red, which was washing away in the rain.

Climbing down the slick rocks, Harry knelt next to her body, placing his hand on her throat to test her pulse. Her skin was ice cold. Obviously she had been dead for awhile. There appeared not to have been a struggle. She must have slipped and fallen.

Harry closed his eyes. "No!"

_Why did this have to happen? She was just a baby!_ Even after all these years as an Auror, it still bothered him to find a dead body. He felt nauseous, flushed, and his heart was pumping fast. She reminded him so much of Ginny when she was young, with her red hair. It gutted him. He felt like the world was being swallowed up by death, and there was nothing he could do about it.

Crying out, he clasped his hand into a fist, the bile rising in his throat. _It wasn't right! _Now he would have to go back and tell her parents she was dead, something he hated doing. Dizzy, he saw spots dance before his eyes. There was a tingling in his hands.

There was a time when he might have been able to deal with this, when he was young and had no fear, but now it just came flooding all around him like a giant weight upon his chest. Stumbling away from the body, he slipped in the mud and grabbed a tree branch to steady himself.

He walked along the stream bank for a long time, his body numb. He didn't know where he was or what he was doing. The sounds of rain pattered all around him, drenching his coat and sweater.

An old stone bridge was up ahead. A voice whispered in the back of his mind. An image flittered in the dark shadow, and he jumped back.

It was the Lady of the Moor. She looked a bit different this time, her hair now blonde, but she was still ghostly pale.

His skin prickled.

Standing in silence underneath the bridge, she called out to him. "Are you all right…Harry?"

How did she know his name? Alarmed, he grabbed his wand. He wondered if maybe he should thank her for helping him find the body, but the words wouldn't leave his mouth. Glancing down at his hands, he noticed they were shaking.

Stepping out of the shadows, she walked to him, her body still translucent, but then she murmured a spell, which misted around her and made her solid. Her lips changed from pale white to a ruddy purple.

Harry blinked his eyes.

She reached out and touched his shoulders. "What can I do for you?"

Harry choked. "I don't know."

Tenderly she took his palm and led him under the bridge and out of the rain, murmuring a spell to dry his clothes. Smiling, she wiped off his glasses. Her hair changed from blonde to jet black.

"Who are you?" Harry felt like he should know her, but he couldn't place her. _How had she become flesh and blood? Wasn't she a spirit? _

The woman leaned over and kissed his cheek, her lips warm. "You don't recognize me, do you? I'll show you." Stepping back, she turned her head and her medium length straight hair changed from black to mousy brown. Then her eyes went from deep blue to dark umber.

It was Nymphadora Tonks. She was the Lady of the Moor. Harry almost laughed. "You walk Hogwarts?"

"Yes…always. It's what I did in life."

"Shouldn't you be with Remus?"

Tonks frowned and turned away. She didn't seem to want to talk about Lupin.

"Thank you for looking after Teddy," she said softly, fingering the lapel of his coat.

"He's a fine young man," Harry said. He couldn't believe he was having this conversation.

"I could feel your sorrow from a hundred yards away. What can I do to help?"

Harry swallowed hard and looked into her eyes. "I don't know what you mean."

"Oh Harry, my sweet boy." Pushing him back against the stone wall, she took his head in her hands and kissed him on the lips, pressing her body against his crotch. She smelled like rainwater and old English netting, with a trace of lavender. Her body was warm, which surprised him, considering she was dead.

Her kiss made his head spin. How long had it been since he had been kissed? He needed love and companionship so badly. He longed to run his fingers through her hair, so he did, brushing back the silken strands from her face. Her hair felt so rich and full.

She giggled and looked up into his eyes. She seemed so young, which was so odd because she was supposed to be older than he was.

"Let me comfort you, Harry. I have only an hour in this form before I go back to being ectoplasm."

"But I don't understand."

"You don't need to." With gentle sigh, she wrapped her arms around him and cupped his buttocks, her supple breasts pressing into his chest.

It was like a fire sparked through his tired body, and tears welled in his eyes. He needed her so badly. He was so lonely, now that Ginny died. Enveloping her in his arms, he kissed the base of her throat, amazed to feel a pulse. "Are you alive?"

"Only as long as the spell is invoked," she whispered, licking her lips.

Trembling, he reached up and brought his mouth down on hers, nipping her bottom lip lightly, before moving up to kiss her closed eyelids.

She grinned, brushing her hand over his thigh.

She was so lovely and pliant in his arms. He couldn't understand why would she give herself to him like this, but then he had to remind himself she was a ghost. None of this was real.

Anxious to touch her, he caressed her breasts through the white taffeta of her gown, allowing his knuckles to travel down to her flat belly.

She murmured a little squeaking sound, which he thought was adorable. Then she placed her hand between his legs, cupping his balls through the thin wool material of his trousers.

Harry jumped, somewhat startled, then his eyes narrowed. "Nymphadora?"

"Call me Dora," she quipped.

"Yes, but Nymphadora fits you better."

With that he laughed and slapped her bottom, turning her around, so her back was against the wall. Then he lifted her muddy taffeta skirts, revealing her thighs. He may have been old, but he was still a man, and he wanted her badly.

She wore gauzy white stockings that were held up by a lacy garter belt and pink silk knickers that had a bow on the front.

"Is this your burial gown?"

"You're not allowed to ask that."

"I see." He chuckled, pulling down her damp knickers, lifting them off each leg.

Her skin seemed to quiver from his touch, and she giggled.

He could smell her arousal, and it made him rock hard, the blood rushing from his head. Pressing his mouth to her mound, he tasted the light moistness of her pussy, his fingers digging into the soft flesh of her buttocks.

Tonks moaned and cried, fingering his long gray hair, pulling it free from its pleat. She stretched her body upward, and her skirts fell about him.

"Pull them back up," he ordered, lifting the hem of her white dress.

She nodded, holding up her skirts. She looked breathtaking.

Harry smiled, a shiver running through him. He didn't think about how he was making love to a dead woman. She was warm and alive in his arms. He had learned a long time ago not to question magic. Sometimes there was no logical explanation in the wizarding world. Magic just happened.

He stood up, stuffing her underwear in his coat pocket and brought his hand to her crotch, grazing her soft folds between her legs. He unzipped his fly and pulled out his stiff cock, pressing up against her core. He looked into her brown eyes, then he drove into her, flinching a little when he slid inside.

Her eyes opened wide, and she bit her lip, her pupils now dark. She dug her fingernails into his back.

He fucked her hard, thrusting inside her, pushing her against the wall. He tried not to think of Ginny, or the dead Falkner girl, or his own impending demise. He tried to capture the moment, taking what joy he could.

Because that was what life was, a series of moments. Nothing stayed the same. Everything died, like summer to winter. And friends he had were now gone, or they had gone their own way. His life was just a memory.

Yet here was this woman from his youth, who had died so young. She was in his arms, breathing in his ear. He could remember her when she was alive. She had been beautiful, and she had been Auror, like him.

Tonks bucked back and forth, kissing his lips, his jaw, and his neck. She seemed to sense his pain, running her fingers down his side. She did something he didn't expect. Her hair spilled red and her eyes turned blue. She turned into Ginny!

"No, no, no!" Harry growled, shaking his head. "I want you to be who you are. Please!" He squeezed her shoulders.

Tonks nodded, solemnly changing back to her original self.

Seeing the dark haired girl he remembered, Harry grabbed her by the hips and lifted her up. His body stiffened as he came inside her, expelling his breath.

Tonks screamed and called out his name before slumping forward against him.

For a while he held her, letting her legs down easy, pulling up his trousers. He listened to her heartbeat and caressed her hair. She seemed to breathe with life.

"I must go," she whispered. "The magic is about to end."

Reluctantly Harry let her go, running his hand down her spine. He wanted to bring her home with him and place her in his bed. He imagined making her tea and soup, coddling her in his arms. Suddenly he was quite sad. Yet he had been sad for months now. The sadness was just part of him.

"Are you better?" she asked, holding his hand.

He considered her question. He thought about how he had lost the courage to go back and tell everyone the Falkner girl was dead. He could do that now. Not that it was going to be easy. It wouldn't be, but he would make it though.

"Yes, I am. Thank you." He squeezed her hand.

Tonks embraced him and tears came to her eyes. "No, Harry, thank you, for destroying Voldemort all those years ago. I walk these moors, knowing our world is a safer place… because of you. Goodbye, luv."

Then she was gone.

Harry took a deep breath, amazed by what just happened._ Was it real? Probably not_. He chuckled morbidly.

Walking up the stream bank, back towards the Falkner girl, he placed his hands in his pocket. Inside were a woman's pink silk knickers. Harry lifted them to his nose and could still smell the scent of sex.

Harry blinked twice and looked out at the horizon. It had stopped raining. "Thank you, Dora," he whispered.


End file.
